Foot Freedom

I promised no baby post this time and I’m making good. Even though I cannot believe you all don’t want to talk about babies and haven’t been thinking about babies and baby clothing and baby items, and like, coming up with baby names.

(And annoying the piss out of your husband with baby name talk. And feelings. Lots of talk about feelings over here, too. Tony is all kinds of thrilled, up in this house.)

You have grinch hearts is what you have, you and your non-baby-loving need for non-baby blog posts. You can join Tony in the man cave, where he’s camped out for the past few days in a remarkable effort to avoid feelings. I think I may have enough for the both of us.

Did I just alienate my audience? How did this go so wrong?

Stay, stay, stay…I promised and I’ll deliver. Can’t promise it’ll be good, but if you’ve read this blog long enough, you should know that by now.

So, in an effort to avoid any baby talk for this blog post, I started thinking of things to write about the other day. And while I have no grand theory on how to counteract zero gravity in space to offer you (maybe the next post, guys, sorry), I did chuckle a little when I thought of Tony and his one major obsessive quirk. So guess what I’m writing about today?

Let me start off by saying that Tony is probably the most laid back person on this planet. I care what side of the bed I sleep on. He didn’t even realize he had an option. If the ketchup is on the wrong shelf in the fridge, I will have an OCD flare-up. He probably doesn’t even realize we have ketchup. I’ve said it plenty of times on this blog, but I can’t reiterate enough how go-with-the-flow he is.

Not only that, but he will still think I’m the biggest beauty queen in the world, even when I’m 2 days post-showering, have Christmas trees growing on my legs and smell like the ape exhibit at the zoo. It’s true. He’ll comment on how cute I look.

But there is ONE thing that really offends my husband. Like, I’m talking, seriously offends.

He cannot stand when I wear socks with holes.

Now, in all fairness, I’m not talking about socks with holes that show the little pigs that went to the market. We’re mainly just talking some wearing or holes in the heels after a few years of use. Nothing big deal, but socks that you put on when the others are in the laundry hamper to keep your feet warm while you pal around the house. He’ll take one look at these, though, and I can tell in his face that he’s, like, 99% repulsed. The other 1% is still male after all.

It would always make me laugh at first because I thought he was kidding around, but I’m coming to realize he’s terribly weird about it. Remember. Same kid who wears the same outfit 4 days in a row. He’s weird about a sock with a hole in the heel. I don’t get it. But I’m getting kind of self-conscious about it now.

The other day, however, I was folding his laundry like an excellent wife and came across his huge pile of socks. And are you ready for this? Lots of holes.

And it’s now become the great-holey-sock-double-standard-of-2012.

(Oh my gawwd, you guys. You wanted a non-baby post and look what happens…I write the dumbest post ever…back to babies, people. Back to babies.)